And to reiterate that fact, it took me three tries to even spell brunette! Recap: Reiterate-first try, Brunette-third try.
So here's the deal, my hair has been blissfully platinum for 2 1/2 years now. Platinum and I got along swimmingly. I didn't even mind having to touch up my roots every 4-6 weeks, which is saying something considering I can only manage to bathe myself once a week and only do my laundry with the same frequency as dyeing my roots (yes I have 4-6 weeks worth of underwear).
However, as I am unleashing myself upon the (mainly third) world in a couple of weeks (more on that
here), I decided to tone down my beacon of hair. Actually, it never really occurred to me (blonde dreadlocks? yes please) but after about the 10th person said, "you're dyeing your hair first, right?" in a tone that insinuated I was strapping a live bomb to myself, I conceded. Not something I normally do, I know, but then I also realized that after 6 weeks, I would have two-tone dreadlocks (i.e. no thanks).
So, my wonderful aspiring-hairdresser-if-investment-banking-doesn't-work-out sister Jenna came home on Monday and we debated the merits of "toasted medium brown" and "rich dark brown" in the aisle of CVS. I went dark, for the heck of it, wanting to see what it looked like and assuming it would fade. Um, so now I have dark brown hair.
Exhibit A: "Princess Hair"
Let's flash back to the summer of 2006 when I first went platinum. Having never drastically colored my hair, I remember the existential crisis that created. It's just hair, I know, and as the boy has reminded me, your hair doesn't define you. True, but it is also true that it is attached to your head in kind of a prominent position. I remember feeling dayglow. And the irrational need to wear lots of black (I'm usually more of a hot pink kind of girl) to combat the unbearable lightness of my hair and to make myself seem more serious/dignified than a Texas beauty queen, which was the hairdresser's fear. That's not what I was going for. I was hoping to look more like some mythical sage woman with pre-maturely white hair. Not Pamela Anderson or a stripper, as in "I really love your hair color! I've always wanted stripper blonde hair!" (true story). Now, however, I will get no more compliments that I have "princess hair" (from a 3-year-old) or "look like a mermaid" (from a drunk guy at the bar) or look like Storm from X-Men (my dad).
Now I am brunette. (burnette, brunnette...my fingers don't like typing it)
Exhibit B: Burrnnettee
(p.s. Sorry for the scary self-taken photo, but I think it's probably an accurate representation of my feelings towards my new hair.)The great thing about my hair being platinum is, as per my description earlier, I am not so much of a maintenance girl. My hair is slightly curly, but more just chaotic, and platinum worked for that. All those crazy tendrils and tons of frizz? They were practically translucent and just faded into thin air! Now, however, every neglected piece of rebellious hair is cut in relief and is starkly, painfully visible. The ends of my hair which haven't been trimmed for over a year no longer make me look like a wild mermaid, they just look like washed-up seaweed. I feel the need to wear more make up (usually far from a daily occurrence) so that my face can counterbalance the weight of my hair. Or as the conversation with my mom went, "Are you going to put on some lipstick or something?" "Why?" "Well, you look kind of pale." "I'll go put on some bronzer." I think it looks like a wig, a bad wig or like that Britney Spears video where she changes hair color like 5 times and you realize why she stays blonde. Some people are just supposed to be blonde.
Maybe it'll look better in dreadlocks??
And I got to see this place in all its heat and glory...
Because I did. I got to travel around the world with my best friend and it was amazing and thrilling and painful and heart-achingly good and alive. And I'm pretty sure that I'm the luckiest girl in the world.
